American Presidents in their role as father to the nation and commander in chief of the armed force must inevitably write a lot of letters to the families of the dead. Most of these are routine, though some have acquired a political, or a least a curiosity value over time. President Lincoln’s letter to Civil War mother Lydia Bixby commiserating on the loss of her sons was read to great dramatic effect in the movie Saving Private Ryan, both to illustrate the depth of sacrifice of Mrs. Bixby and the humanity of the Great Emancipator. It is however possible however that not all of Mrs. Bixby’s sons reported dead actually perished and that Lincoln actually did not write the letter.

The text has been widely praised as one of Lincoln’s finest works of writing alongside the Gettysburg Address and his second inaugural address.

Some controversy surrounds the recipient, subject, and authorship of the letter. Although her sons died fighting for the Union, Mrs. Bixby seems to have personally supported the Confederacy. Not all five sons died in battle, with records showing that three of them were still alive years after the war. Historians have long debated whether the text was penned by Lincoln himself or by his assistant private secretary, John Hay.

The recent death of Neil Armstrong once again brought to public attention the eulogy that President Nixon did not deliver. Before the success of Apollo 11 was known, William Safire drafted a contingency speech to be delivered in the event astronauts were trapped on the lunar surface.

Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace.

These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their recovery. But they also know that there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice.

These two men are laying down their lives in mankind’s most noble goal: the search for truth and understanding.

They will be mourned by their families and friends; they will be mourned by their nation; they will be mourned by the people of the world; the will be mourned by a Mother Earth that dared send two of her sons into the unknown.

But thanks to the skill of the engineers and the astronauts themselves, they were not mourned on that occasion at all and both lived honored lives into old age. The draft went into a file.

Given the number of letters of condolence a commander in chief may have to write it was interesting that in July 2011, President Obama decided to increase the number of letters emanating from the White House to include suicides. This was done apparently to “de-stigmatize” suicide at the behest of a number of political pressure groups. How could he write yet more when there were already so many?

And say, does he write them at all? One of the unanswered questions in Yahoo’s Answers is: “Does President Obama sign condolence letters to families of dead service members?”

The answer is, apparently not. Or at least, not always. The Gateway Pundit notes that the parents of SEALs who died in the August 6, 2011 crash of a Chinook helicopter in Afghanistan happened to compare Presidential letters. They were form letters signed by an electric pen.

The inclusion of suicides in the the recipients of Presidential condolences strongly hinted at automation. “Letters to families of service members who die in war zones will be from the president, and will differ depending on the type of death, as in a combat death versus an accidental death.”

Men may die but mailmerge still lives.

Of almost equal fascination are the letters about Presidents from the dead themselves. A USMA study which examined letters by Osama bin Laden taken during the raid on his hideout found that the fugitive terrorist was busily writing to henchmen about killing US leadership. Of course he wrote them himself. In his missives, Bin Laden especially wanted Obama and Petreus targeted and no one else because the one would put the woeful Joe Biden in office; and the other would eliminate the man man Osama most feared.

Bin Ladin had asked `Atiyya’s predecessor, Mustafa Abu al-Yazid, to task Ilyas, presumably Ilyas Kashmiri, to set up two units, one in Pakistan and another in Bagram, Afghanistan, to target airplanes known to be carrying President Obama and/or General Petraeus on their visits to these areas. He only wanted President Obama and General Petraeus to be targeted.

He explained that the death of President Obama would see the “utterly unprepared” Vice President Joe Biden automatically assume the presidency, which would cause the United States to enter into crisis mode, and “the killing of Petraeus would have a serious impact on the course of the war,” as Bin Ladin considered him to be “the man of this [critical] phase.”

The number of letters from the living to the dead and vice-versa is so large that it’s pity that atheism considers it impossible for them to be answered. One of the attractions of Christian theology is that it believes that the packets will eventually connect; that in the eschatological future all dead letters (pardon the pun) will be delivered and every question answered. In Christian theology the mailman is Christ himself, the one of the few Biblical figures who the faithful believe actually went to Hell. It’s in the Creed: “He descended into Hell. And on the Third Day He arose again,” an event known as the Harrowing of Hell. “This is the Old English and Middle English term for the triumphant descent of Christ into hell (or Hades) between the time of His Crucifixion and His Resurrection, when, according to Christian belief, He brought salvation to the souls held captive there since the beginning of the world.” It is remembered most vividly in the Eastern rite.

the harrowing of hell is also the dominant symbol of Orthodox Easter liturgies. Again, in Western churches the empty tomb is what you will see depicted on Easter Sunday. But Orthodox services recreate the harrowing of hell. Specifically, the priest exits the church with a cross. The sanctuary is immersed in darkness and the doors are closed. The priest then knocks on the door and proclaims, “Open the doors to the Lord of the powers, the king of glory.” Inside the church the people make a great noise of rattling chains which conveys the resistance of hell to the coming of Christ. Eventually, the doors are opened up, the cross enters, and the church is lit and filled with incense. Which is pretty cool. I would have liked an Easter service like this when I was a kid.

Today in our cynical age, we may prefer to think of it as the day when, if it happens, everything finally gets declassified; when we get emailed a decryption key to the secrets of the universe. Until then the letters to and from the dead to the Presidents must remain unanswered, form letter or no.

31 Comments, 31 Threads

I saw the report about the form letters to the Navy Seals’ families – many thoughts flashed through my mind. I had thought my glass of contempt for this President had filled. Again and again, he causes it to overflow.

W: “He explained that the death of President Obama would see the “utterly unprepared” Vice President Joe Biden automatically assume the presidency, which would cause the United States to enter into crisis mode”

So what exactly do you call 8.3% unemployment and $15 Trillion in debt? Save your bombs death squads, Obama took care of this part of your plan.

I think Obama’s choice of Biden was another case of his contempt and dismissal of both the delegation of tasks and the balance of power and authority. This is a man who wants to concentrate all governing power unto himself and those immediately around him.

Actually, if you go to any Roman Catholic Easter Vigil service the
church’s doors are closed, the congregation is enveloped in darkness until
the procession opens the closed doors leading with the the paschal candle to light the world.

I never witnessed this ceremony until last year. And me, a 60 year-old Catholic.

In a conversation with Vice President Joe Biden, Obama describes how letters to the dead lead to votes, at least in Chicago. “I write a letter to an alderman, Joe,” he said with a knowing smile, “and voters rise from the dead. And if it works in Chicago there’s no reason it won’t work in Duluth. I’m gonna write myself a letter, Joe, and make believe it came from Abe Lincoln.” And with that, in a perfect Fats Waller falsetto, Obama began to sing.

I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from Abe
He’s gonna write words oh so sweet
They’re gonna knock me off my feet
A lotta kisses at the bottom
The folks will see I got ‘em
Abe’s gonna write and say he’s knows that I’m the better
Man for the job of president
I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And folks will think it’s Abe who sent

To which Biden replied, off key but with a goofy grin

It’s the Chicago way and no way else is better
A note from Abe is just the thing
The voters will be so impressed
Those racist Pubs will be suppressed
We’ll drive them all right to the bottom
I tell you Boss we’ve got ‘em
Old Abe is one of us, and you’re a real go-getter
There’s votes in every graveyard too
So you just sit right down and write yourself that letter
And I won’t tell it came from you

As to whether Lincoln really wrote that letter, or whether they were all really dead, it doesn’t matter any more than it matters whether or not Henry V actually made the magnificent camp speech just before Agincourt that Shakespeare credited him with. (undoubtedly the real Henry was no Shakespeare)

What matters is that in both these instances, and others like them, it’s what SHOULD have been said in those instances, even if it got missed on the first time through, and it’s important that WE the living remember that that’s what should have been said in those instance, and what should be repeated when we ourselves have to face circumstances like them.

When we look back at a momentous battle like Agincourt, for example, do we want to remember the outnumbered commander saying “hey guys, um, glad you’re here today…” or do we want to remember him encouraging his men with “We few.. we happy few, we Band of Brothers, for he who sheds his blood with me today shall BE my brother…”

The Orthodox Easter service sounds like the Protestant Maundy-Thursday service. Candles or lamps are extinguished one by one as the story is told beginning with the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. At the crucifixion, there remains but one, which is then extinguished as well. Upon the discovery of the empty tomb, the lamps are re-lit and all voices join together in song.

It is not the job of the commander in chief to personally mark each death under his rule; it has never been so, and is not possible. Soldiers of this country do not fight and die for a president. Each man has his own reasons and his own destiny. A letter from the immediate commander is traditional and far more to be treasured for it is from someone who knew the lost face to face. The ten thousandth letter of condolence from ‘ The Office of the President, may be framable but cannot speak to the heart.

My last attempt to post this seems to have gone off into the ether. I apologize if this is a double post.

We all remember Sullivan Ballou’s remarkable letter to his wife Sarah before First Manassass. This one is from a Confederate to his father:

“On the evening of May 10 , 1864 th – as the Civil War ground on into its fourth straight year – 26-year-old James Robert Montgomery, a private in the Confederate Signal Corps in Virginia, wrote a letter to his father back home in Camden, Mississippi – dripping blood on the paper as he wrote, from the horrific arm wound he had sustained a few hours earlier.”

Dear Father. This is my last letter to you….I have been struck by a piece of shell and my right shoulder is horribly mangled & I know death is inevitable. I am very weak but I write to you because I know you would be delighted to read a word from your dying son. I know death is near, that I will die far from home and friends of my early youth but I have friends here too who are kind to me. My friend Fairfax will write you at my request and give you the particulars of my death. My grave will be marked so that you may visit it if you desire to do so. It is optionary with you whether you let my remains rest here or in Miss[issippi]. I would like to rest in the grave yard with my dear mother and brothers but it’s a matter of minor importance. Give my love to all my friends. My strength fails me. My horse and my equipments will be left for you. Again, a long farewell to you. May we meet in heaven.

Your dying son, J. R. Montgomery

“James Montgomery’s friend, Fairfax, did write soon thereafter– forwarding some of his effects – and assuring his father that he had been conscious to the end, and that he had died at peace with himself and his maker.”

our church, in the narthex, there’s a table with wood, and nails, and a sign for silence. and a hammer. and a sign saying to hammer in some nails. the doors to the chapel are open.

it sounds very silly, typing this. but, you nail- how awkward- a few times- a few sins- a little participation- and then go on in and sit down. And you listen, and there’s more hammering. and someone comes in and sits down. and more hammering. and more people come in. and more hammering.

the hairs on your neck go up. everyone in that church has participated in hammering jesus to the cross with their sins. and then they read what happened to him, and it’s not 2,000 years ago. They don’t raise their voice when reading. you still hear hammering. and people entering to sit. and more hammering.

They may not have been formal letters from the living to the about-to-be-dead, but there were a lot of postcard-length messages written on WWII bombs to various Axis leaders prior to loading and delivery, such as “Dear Adolf: Happy birthday: Hope you get a bang out of this one. XXX, The USAAF” or “Love and kisses to Emperor Hirohito.” Some were signed personally by the soldiers or airmen involved in the bombing raids. I think the tradition still continues.

It speaks to the social realities in England that Shakespeare, while seeking to inspire the would be brother, has King Harry describe him as “neer so vile.”

How big a deal is the robo pen condolence? FDR could not sign half a million letters. LBJ could not sign a tenth that many. A telegram from the War Department, or appropriate branch delivered by an officer, is expected.

I never had to write such a letter but I thought about it. The worst day I ever had on a job was going through a young sailor’s effects to remove what his parents did not need to see.

It’s quite telling when our enemies have a clear understanding of our leadership. As far as Biden goes I thought that there were two moments of truth in the 2008 election. The first was when Obama told Joe the plumber that the “wealth needed to be spread around”. The second was when Biden’s wife said on Oprah that he was offered both the Secretary of State Job and the VP position. Biden took the VP job. This tells me a lot about the man. As John Nance Garner stated that the VP position is “not worth a bucket of warm piss”, Biden had a chance to make a difference as a secretary of state. To cap off his long political career by using his extensive experience to actually help out. But he chose the easy path. Maybe he thought, “heck I’ve put in my time…I can coast for at least 4 and maybe 8 years.” It really strikes me that this is the type of politician that we keep re-electing and have been for years. When the majority of laws are drafted by the Biden’s of the world then we truly get what we deserve.

A friend of mine, a officer I served with, told me that not long before he left the Air Force he volunteered to deploy for Desert Storm, along with some other members of his organization.

They needed his specialty and expertse over there but his boss refused to let them go. The reason he gave is that he could not stand the thought of having to write a letter to their loved ones.

His speciality did not involve exposure to direct combat, although since it involved searching for WMDs, I suppose that could not be ruled out entirely.

In any case I do not think well of that officer. Writing a “regrets” letter would be tough, but not as tough as what those who risk their lives have to endure. It’s part of the job and you have to face that.

When I was at the Pentagon one of the officers in our unit was called to go deliver the bad news to a mother. The people who went down in that airplane were in no way associated with our office; it was just his turn to do so. I am glad I did not have to do it myself, not only because of the grief that task would deliver, but because in my opinion operating an AC-130 in that kind of a threat environment was insane. Not telling someone about that aspect would be nearly as tough as giving a mom the bad news about her son.

For the record, I’m pretty sure that Jesus’ descent to the dead was not to Hell proper but to Purgatory. Hell, required by Heaven, required by the existence of good, is, as far as I can tell, a kind of receptacle for the detritus of the universe, or maybe only of humanity. Anyway, you don’t come back from there, so they say, and Jesus didn’t go there, I guess because there would be no point of that.

Yes, Charles, Ryan’s speech was excellent. The feel of the convention is interesting. There is a lot of new, intelligent and enthusiastic blood out there. My wife, also in her 60′s, commented on the first night that it felt like she was listening to the speeches of the old (really old) Democratic party convention.

Reminds me of the early 00′s in the American league. The Yanks were an organization on their way down, and the Sox on their way up. Everyone knows what happened in ’04.

Ari, where and what is that church? Incredible, and incredible description.

I once thought that after Clinton took a 18 year old college intern into the Oval Office for “executive service”, that the Democrat left would be discredited for 50 years post-Clinton. I was off by about 42 years.

However, unless the left is able to construct an entirely different meme, a total “post-post-modern” history, Obama’s legacy will saddle the left and Democrats with a memory so foul that no one will dare speak his name within 5 years.

But then again, the Republicans consider it “good form” to whitewash everything a Democrat administration has done upon arrival of a GOP President, i.e. part of the theory of a “clean turnover of power” and such. So, it’s possible that $1 Trillion will go missing (hey, even if only 1% of that’s siphoned off into personal graft accounts, that’s a whole lot of $Billions in “take away stash”), that “Fast and Furious” will become a legend of “partisan politics” at it’s worst, that Afghanistan becomes “Bush’s goddamn war …”, that 100,000 mobile shredding vans will successfully be deployed to destroy any and all evidence of anything between November 2012 and January 2013 – it’s possible that Obama eventually becomes that lovable “Elder Statesman”. Hey, if Jimmah from Georgia could do it, I expect that Obama can, too. Then again, Obama is no Southern “good ol’ boy”, and certainly no “brother from the hood”.

Regardless, those who voted for Obama will have to live with the consequences of THAT decision. If no one else ever knows, they will.

Somebody upthread references a telegram delivered by an Officer. Until Gen Hal Moore’s wife changed it in 1965, notices were by Western Union telegram delivered by a WU courier (In the movie it was a cab driver). At Benning, the couriers learned she knew who was in what quarters, and went to her. She was the CO’s wife so she started delivering the notices herself.

Later the Army and the rest of the services assigned an Officer the duty.

I have downtown scurfy friends who refuse to even entertaint the thought of going there, b/c they are so sure the people will be arrogant and self-righteous. It’s really hard explaining how much they are not. It’s stuff like this. The people are absolutely brittle with judgmentalism and self-righteousness, compared to anyone who has been through this.

It sounds so silly- hammer a few nails into some wood before you go into the Maundy Thursday service. It sounds showy and odd and sort of childish- Fisher- Price has a plastic hammer and nails set. Maundy Thursday sounds like some Batman temptress.

There are palm fronds on Palm Sunday, too.

It all sounds very silly and play-acting, doesn’t it?

It’s hell. It’s absolute hell. You, and everyone sitting around you, is complicit and weak and foolish. It stays- the hammering, the hosannas on Palm Sunday. There isn’t any “those people, over there.” It’s “us people, me, me, people I know…” It’s hell.

The sanctuary gets stripped. the candles lit by an acolyte get put out. Our youngest and our best- their work gets undone. the hammering continues. The service starts out. There is order- the acolyte, the pastor, the readings. But- workers begin stripping the church- not in order- just going about stripping the place: they are silent, but they don’t stop. they don’t rest. They are working while the reader is reading, not referencing- none of the up and down, call and response- they just take away. They strip the church. The reader reads about Jesus getting beaten. The reader reads about soldiers gambling for his clothes. The altar gets stripped. The banners come down. Jesus gets crucified. The candles get taken away. Jesus gets a spear in the side. The altar cloths get folded and taken away.. The pulpit cloth gets taken down. Jesus says we don’t know what we’re doing, and he forgives us. The flowers get taken away.Jesus calls out. the lights get extinguished.He gets put in the tomb. The Bible gets shut on the altar, and taken away. The reader simply stops reading.

really- that’s it. the end. there is no processional, no getting up and saying hi.there isn’t even……really. you’re just stuck in your seat, kind of overwhelmed. it started out normal, and then- it’s empty and dark, and the hammering has stopped, which is good- it dies down as the service goes, b/c people have all arrived, but – the doors have been open the whole time….there’s no pastor shaking hands, there’s no hello, there’s just sitting in the dark in this room with all these other people who helped kill Jesus, alongside you. no greeting. no finery. no ritual that proclaims hope. no light. no hope for the future. no- our kids will make it better- no the pastor can explain- no magic ritual to make the sun come up and everything will go back to normal- no choir-. it’s just….

ari – Are you sure that’s the Maundy Thursday service? It sounds like a Good Friday rite. At the Anglican church I used to go to, Maundy Thursday they had the ritual of the washing of the feet, and then they shrouded all the images in dark cloth. It also ended very abruptly – everyone just left the church without any after-service handshaking or greetings. It was to re-enact the saying “Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.” Sometimes they did an interesting vigil after that – one year I signed up for it. At the one single remaining candle on the side altar, one person would keep a vigil for an hour or so, and then someone else would take over, and so on all night until the Good Friday service started the next day. It was because the disciples could not stay awake with Jesus that night in Gethsemene, so we would do it. It made me think, while I was there alone, how rushed and panicky all the events of that night were. You read the Gospel story, and it doesn’t immediately impress you with the speed of the action. But they were dragging Jesus all over the place, to Pilate, to Herod, back to Pilate – all in the middle of the night. I realized what a crooked job it all was – they were going to do this guy to death as fast as they could, no decent trial or even pretense of justice, just scrambling to get the dirty work over with before people could even realize what was going on. It would be 2:15 in the morning, and I’d think, “Hmmm, right now Peter would be skulking near the fire while a serving maid takes a hard look at him…”

The next day, Good Friday, we’d have the Stripping of the Altar – after Jesus has died, of course – and even the single candle is carried away, because he’s gone into the tomb and all the light of the world has disappeared. That’s the way it stays until the Easter Vigil, when the candle is carried back into the dark church and all our little candles are lit again. It was an Anglican church, but all this is Catholic ritual.

It was a Maundy Thursday service- it’s usually a Good Friday stripping of the altar. I don’t know why it was on Thursday, this one year. I think it’s because the pastor was retiring, like, right then, so they were trying to get the kids marched through confirmation and first communion as brisk as possible. and I don’t know that they’ve done the nails, since then. But I also haven’t been back on Maundy Thursday, since then.

I mean, I know to skip the Good Friday service, if possible. It sounds weak, but, hey, I’m weak. Spouse goes through it, a church following a liturgical calendar is still very new to him- he’s trying to do everything right. I’m shallow- I like shiny, happy, fun Easter and Christmas stuff. Mostly because it is shiny and happy and fun. I like the paste jewel crowns and the ill-fitting polyester satin robes on the three kings. I like Mardi Gras- a hangover helps on Ash Wednesday. I like Easter dresses.

They have the vigil- one hour time slots, I think. I’m pretty half- paying attention, most of the time, anyway. I know some people have gone to church just to prove they could do a better job of it than me. I’m like the doorsill-anybody can step over and enter in and do a better job.

and the thing is, they do. they do go to church, they do feel proud of themselves, they do bring their families. they feel welcome and safe. I think I’ll get to be a good, dedicated intellectual Christian later. Schleppy and disorganized and emotional ( really, good friday is HORRIBLE FRIDAY) has helped people I know and care about get to a good place, around people better than me. they wouldn’t have had enough bravery to walk in, otherwise. They need to have someone not have it together, to feel like they’re not at the complete bottom, completely disoriented. at least that’s what I tell myself, as I’m late for sunday school, or have lipstick on my teeth, or nothing that’s the right size, or my pants have a hole in them, or I didn’t understand the sermon- again-

And, yeah, Dr Mabuse. Doesn’t the whole thing sound like “Night Court”? The almost comedy show? Where everyone was kind of nuts and the judge was the only sort of half-sane, decent person? It doesn’t sound like the cops and judges shows where they’re all reasonable, level-headed and concerned, you know-the ones in greys and browns looking therapeutically depressed under strip lighting?

I mean, I know Pontius Pilate is supposed to be this awful man, but he sounds, mostly, like he’s got a headache. Like “What is up with ya’ll crazy people?” “And why didn’t my wife take Midol like she was supposed to? The heat in this wretched place is getting to her. She’s going native, having dreams and visions. Why can’t she let me do my job?” Really, to me, he sounds like the Economist- “Why are the peasants revolting this time?- What’s up with the colonists?” in that really bored, public-school man drawl.

They all sound like Jon Lovitz’ Liar character. Or someone in comedy, or slapstick, or dark surrealist comedy, or independent festival comedy.

and then he’s dead, and people are “Like, what happened? Oops.”

It doesn’t sound at all like a measured, tempered, even voiced chanted ritual of important things. It sounds human. messed up, but human.